


Paganini's ravioli

by traveller



Category: Actor RPF, British Actor RPF, King Arthur (2004) RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-09-09
Updated: 2004-09-09
Packaged: 2017-10-15 13:42:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/161359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/traveller/pseuds/traveller
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><cite>Almost none of the pots and jars and canisters on Hugh's shelves are labeled, and they're in no kind of order that Ioan can deduce.</cite></p>
            </blockquote>





	Paganini's ravioli

Almost none of the pots and jars and canisters on Hugh's shelves are labeled, and they're in no kind of order that Ioan can deduce. Hugh can stand at the stove and reach out, put his hand on anything, always the right thing, without even looking up from the recipe. Ioan has spent hours staring at them, taking them down and sniffing them, his fingers itching to put square white stickers on them with the names in block capitals, in black ink.

No, red. Vermillion, deep orangey-red to match the Le Creuset cookware that Hugh swears by, on off-white bits of parchment paper. That would do, that would be perfect, if only he knew what half the stuff was. Then he could label, then he could sort and organize.

"Then I couldn't find anything," Hugh answers when Ioan asks permission, when Ioan can't stand it anymore and all he wants is some cinnamon for his morning toast but winds up with a bitter mouthful nutmeg instead.

So Ioan watches, Ioan tries to learn. He wraps his arms around Hugh's waist, props his chin on Hugh's shoulder and whispers, "Cinnamon. Pepper. Sesame." while Hugh's fingers fly unerringly from jar to jar.

"Rosemary. Celery. Anise."

Hugh makes a lamb curry (coriander, cumin, paprika, turmeric, ground chiles, fennel) that brings tears to Ioan's eyes, and he makes it from memory. He doesn't measure and he doesn't weigh, just starts whacking things together and it always tastes the same, always turns out just right.

"How?" he begs, and Hugh shrugs.

"It's just me, I don't know, me."

::

Hugh likes to squash Ioan to the couch, kneeling astride him while he feeds discs into the CD player on the shelf behind. "Go," he says, and Ioan will tilt his head back, close his eyes and feel the music, feel Hugh's left hand curving warmly on his neck.

"Chopin. _Fantasie Impromptu..._ Cherkassky."

"Go."

"Stravinsky. _Élégie for Viola._ American Chamber, um, Miles Hoffman, soloist."

Hugh's breath, a warm puff against his eyelids. "Go."

"Mmm, Bach. _Laß mein herz die Munze sein._ Yo-Yo Ma with Amsterdam Baroque."

"Go."

"Paganini. Violin Concerto number... one." He rocks his hips up against Hugh's in a slow, lazy roll. "Menuhin... no. No, Midori."

"How do you _do_ that?" Hugh says against Ioan's lips.

"I'm organized," he says seriously, and Hugh's laugh is more than half kiss

::

"Try this," Hugh says, and presses something soft and almost too hot against Ioan's lips.

Ioan knows this game, lets his eyelids flutter while he chews. Sweet eggy pasta, stuffed with meat, and cheese. He swallows.

"Ravioli?"

"Ding." When Ioan opens his eyes, Hugh is grinning. "Yes."

 _What's in it?_ he wants to ask, _How did you make it, where did you learn this?_ Ioan just smiles instead, lets himself be seated, lets Hugh straddle his lap and feed him sweet-spicy bits rolled in warm tomato sauce. There are innumerable jars open on the worktop; the air is heavy with their scents.

"That's onion, garlic, mushrooms, and beef drippings," Hugh volunteers when Ioan licks at the corner of his mouth. "Bit of oregano, and thyme, too."

"Rosemary? Sugar?" Ioan asks, and Hugh stares for a moment before he kisses him, fumbling the food onto the table with a crash of crockery and silverware.

"What?" Ioan gasps after a second. "What?" He can't help smiling, and Hugh is laughing back.

"You, just you."


End file.
